


Against the Wind

by Numpty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Numpty/pseuds/Numpty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to episode 11x04 'Baby'. It's going to be a long road back to the bunker. Hurt!Dean. Caring!Sam</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any canon characters therein, and I am making no profit from this work of fiction.
> 
> A/N: A massive thank you goes to my awesome beta and pal Sharlot for the invaluable feedback and encouragement. Title and lyrics are from the Bob Seger song of the same name.

**Against the Wind**

 

_Against the wind_  
A little something against the wind  
I found myself seeking shelter against the wind  
  
  


 

o0o0o

 

Sam watched as the Impala drew towards him, the Chevy bobbing in all directions like a ship on choppy waters as it bounced along the uneven dirt track. He stood behind Lily Markham’s children, hands resting on their shoulders in a gesture he’d meant to be reassuring but which lacked his usual heart and soul. The kids had been upset and disorientated when they’d wakened, stricken at the loss of their father and desperate for their mother. Sam, whose own worry had grown exponentially since the Impala hadn’t appeared after the ‘five minutes’ Dean had promised when he’d called him over half an hour ago, hadn’t had been able to spare them any comfort.

 

Dean’s Baby looked…bruised, battered but somehow no less triumphant as she slowed to a halt. Almost all of the car’s windows had been shattered her fender twisted, the hood dented, lights hanging like popped eyes. Sam felt his concern kick up several notches. She looked as if she’d been steered into something solid. At speed.

 

Sam took a deep, steadying breath as he saw Dean drag himself out of the car. His big brother was all in one piece, at least, and moving. It was a start, though the elder Winchester staggered as if he had ton weights attached to each leg. Unable to wait for his brother to reach him, Sam let the two kids run for their mother and limped to meet Dean halfway. He groaned under his breath as the gathering wounds from his own beating sprang vibrantly into life.

 

Reaching his big brother, Sam lifted an arm around Dean’s shoulders just as the older man slid an arm around his back and they connected, supporting each other’s weight; a half-hug they would never admit to, but which conveyed everything they didn’t need to say. Another close-call. Sam felt the faint shudders that rippled across Dean’s shoulders; the come-down from whatever adrenaline high had powered him through his fight with the Nachzehrers.

 

At least, Sam hoped it wasn’t anything more sinister. Because, close up, Dean looked even worse than the worst Sam had imagined. Welts and scrapes ran in fault lines across his forehead and cheeks, dark and crusted with dried blood. The younger Winchester caught sight of a jagged wound at the side of Dean’s neck and felt his mouth go dry at the realisation that one of the Nachzehrers had tried to take a bite out of his brother. Dean was favouring his left side and there was a stiff sluggishness to his movements.

 

“Probably nothing, right?” Dean parodied Sam’s own words of a couple of days ago, making the younger man wince as an involuntary laugh jostled his tender bruises.

 

They lurched around to the passenger side, Dean somehow managing to do most of the work even though Sam was certain his brother had taken the brunt of the damage. Dean opened the door and patted Sam’s shoulder as the younger man started to contort himself down into the seat, grimacing as his body complained each tiny movement.

 

“Everybody okay back there?” Of course his brother’s concern was for everyone else but himself.

 

“Uh, yeah. They all changed back,” Sam grunted, wearied after his small exertion as Dean dropped with a heavy thump into the driver’s seat. “So it was Deputy Dumbass, huh?” Sam could only guess how that had been possible, since the last time he’d seen his brother, the Deputy’s severed head had been snarling and spitting from the inside of their beer cooler with all the menace of a puffed up lap dog.

 

“Mm. Yeah, Deputy Dumbass,” Dean sounded distant as he closed the door, not even bothering to pretend to play along. Sam’s concern piqued anew. “You know, he was trying to build an army,” Dean went on. It wasn’t a question.

 

“Yeah, I know, to fight the Darkness,” Sam glanced at Dean, uneasy, seeing the same expression mirrored on his brother’s bloodied face. This was his fault. Even as Sam’s joy at having Dean back, healthy and whole, had overwhelmed his horror at what he’d done to _get_ him back, the embers of his fiery, guilty fear had remained, ready to ignite at the slightest spark. “Dean, even the monsters are scared.”

 

Dean cast an eye over him, reading the younger man’s distress with the steady, parental ease which never ceased to both rile and reassure Sam in equal measure. The disquiet Sam had seen on his brother’s face earlier shifted, morphing into the solid determination he had come to depend on more than he liked to admit. “Well, let ‘em be. You and I, we’re gonna end this thing now.”

_Screw destiny, right in the face._

 

Sam puffed out a small breath, a smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth. Dean’s certainty, it warmed him, always made him believe anything was possible, the same way it had every other time the world had threatened to fall apart. He felt the fire within him begin to recede, deprived of the hopelessness it needed to fan the flames. But Dean’s resolve aside, they were both beat, both in need of repair. Sam was feeling every one of his thirty-something years, and he was itching to check his brother over for the injuries Dean would try to hide later. “Would you…mind starting tomorrow?”

Dean bounced his eyebrows and ducked his head in rueful acknowledgement, allowing Sam to see the depth of his exhaustion for just a moment before it was swept back under the carpet. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Sam agreed, with a grateful _huh_ of breath, brow pockmarking as the pains in his muscles seeped down into his bones.

“We’ll get Cas to fix you up.” It was almost an after-thought, but yet again Dean had picked up his little brother’s unconscious signals.

But Dean wasn’t the only one who knew how to read between the lines. “Only if he fixes you up too,” Sam insisted, avoiding his brother with a carefully affected nonchalance. Dean never needed an excuse to dismiss Sam’s brotherly concern and the younger hunter didn’t want to give him an easy out by fussing too much too soon.

“Okay mom,” Dean tossed back, but there was no bite and Sam didn’t try to hold back the fond smile that broke across his face. They were both walking wounded, battle-worn, but at that moment Sam wouldn’t have traded it for the world. “Let’s go home.”

“You know what?” Sam patted the Impala’s dash, thought of all the hours, days, _years_ he’d spent in this car; thought of his big brother sitting safe and alive next to him, and sighed with a contentment he could never have comprehended a few years ago. “We are home.”

Dean nodded, his smirk turning into something more tender as he turned his attention to his Baby, twisting the key in the ignition. When the Chevy coughed and spluttered, he closed his eyes, caressing the steering wheel and crooned under his breath. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” And Sam couldn’t bring himself to mock his brother right then - oh, he’d save that little gem for when Dean was really pissing him off – but that car was as much a part of the family as either of them, and she needed fixing up too.

“Ahh, there’s my girl,” Dean murmured as the Chevy’s engine sparked into life.

Sam shook his head, grinning at the pride in his brother’s tone and the affectionate way he patted the steering wheel, and settled back as _Nightmoves_ filled the interior and filtered out into the late afternoon sunshine.

 

o0o0o

 

They were a few hours down the road home when Dean started to fidget. It began with a weary hand dragging down his face to tug at his chin, then digging at his eyeballs as if they were mussels to be shelled. Dean’d tweaked and twiddled the radio, alternating between his staple rock channels and snippets of the pop he’d developed a weakness for after his time as a born-again tween. Finding more Seger had soothed him for a while, but it hadn’t been long before he’d started to shift around in his seat, never seeming comfortable for more than a few seconds before the leather was creaking again, his movements punctuated by quiet sighs.

Sam, who had settled into a light dose after his attempts to poke and prod the truth out of his big brother once they’d reached the open road had been quickly foiled, woke with a jerk and a groan, everything throbbing. The back of his head rubbed against the passenger window and Sam was glad they’d stopped earlier to clear the worse of the blood stains away. Wincing, the younger Winchester itched at the raw, taut skin on his cheek where his earlier wound was beginning to scab.

Sam studied his restless brother, scrunching his features and opening his eyes wider for a clearer view. “You okay?” Sam’s own voice sagged under the weight of his fatigue but Dean looked wrecked, his head wavering, eyes glassy.

The older man’s response was a slow, sleepy blink. A fly, sucked in through the Impala’s gaping windshield, thudded against his cheek and dropped off onto his lap. Dean remained impassive.

“Dean?” Sam tried again, louder this time.

Dean twitched, his grip tightening on the Impala’s steering wheel. He let out a deep, thundering sigh, easily drowning out the amplified roar of the Chevy’s tires as it blasted through the space where the windshield used to be. Belatedly, Sam realised that his brother must have turned the radio off at some point while he’d been napping. “Yeah.”

Sam sat up straighter in his seat, sharpening his assessment. He berated himself for falling asleep and leaving his brother alone. “Are you sure?”

The elder Winchester inclined his chin but otherwise ignored him.

Sam studied his brother’s profile in silence. Dean’s wounds had darkened, criss-crossing his features in rusty patches, standing stark against skin that was paler than Sam remembered. But it was the growing bruises smearing Dean’s temple that had him more concerned.

“How many times were you out cold?” The question came out harsher than he’d intended but Sam was too worried to waste time trying to hide it.

Dean lifted a shoulder, appearing not to notice. “I dunno…once…twice.”

“ _Twice_?” Sam felt a swarm of somethings go scattering in the pit of his stomach, his concern ratcheting higher.

Dean let out a small sound of exasperation but his voice was monotone and his eyes avoided Sam’s. “I’m fine, Sam. Cas’ll fix it.”

“Yeah?” Sam raised his voice, incredulous and wanting to provoke a reaction from his worryingly flat big brother. “Well I’m pretty sure you have a concussion, Dean, and we’ve still got twenty hours on the clock before Cas’ll have a _chance_ to fix it!”

A muscle ticked at Dean’s jaw, but he continued to stare forwards in stony determination. “I’ll be f—”

Sam flicked his eyes heavenwards as he cut across Dean’s stock denial. “You never did tell me what happened.” He gestured at the few glassy teeth that remained around the edges of the Impala’s destroyed windshield. “I mean, looking at the car I can _guess_ , but—”

“Does it _matter_?” Dean finally reacted, breaking his gaze from the road and turning to Sam with a growl. “Got the job done, didn’t I?”

Sam took in the purpling, shiny skin around his brother’s eyes and cheeks, clearer now that Dean was looking straight at him. His brows were locked together, lines of discomfort giving his face a tense, sharp set. He looked dangerous, flighty and fierce in the confined space, but Sam could see raw exhaustion in his eyes, laden with pain.

“Of course it matters, Dean!” The younger man spluttered. “When I saw Mrs Markham driving off with you in the Impala…” he broke off, shaking his head, unwilling to give voice to the memory of his gnawing fear. “And, I mean… _look_ at you!” Sam waved a hand in his brother’s direction.

Dean turned back to the road and chewed his bottom lip. “What do you want me to say, Sammy? I’ve had worse, we both have.”

“I thought we were past all this kinda crap, Dean.” Sam muttered, frustrated. “You’re hurt.”

Dean canted his head to the side, not denying but not agreeing.

“Why don’t you at least let me drive, huh?”

The older man barked out a derisive laugh, swinging his head towards Sam again, eyes darting from top to toe. “Right, ‘cause you’re doin’ just peachy over there, huh?”

Sam pursed his lips, unimpressed by his brother’s latest attempt at deflection. He swatted at a stray, buzzing something as it flew past his ear. “No, Dean, I’m beat to hell. Like you are. Least I can admit it.”

“Oh right, like you _admitted_ you got infected back at that hospital?” Dean tossed back, anger creeping into his tone.

“Really, Dean? We’re going _there_ now? What…is this some kind of payback, you not telling me what happened to you? Not telling me what they did to you?” Sam folded his arms and sat back with a deflated huff, hurt that - even after everything - his brother still didn’t get it. “You _know_ why I didn’t tell you about that.” The younger Winchester continued after a long pause. “Aw c’mon, what would you have done if I’d told you, Dean? You’d have come running right back—”

“Sammy—”

“And I didn’t want you to get infected too!” Sam carried on, ignoring his brother’s interruption. “I mean…I just got you back. I let the Darkness out for you—”

“Wasn’t all you, Sam.” Dean’s voice fell quiet, regretful, stopping his little brother in his tracks more effectively than if he’d shouted.

Sam shuddered at the memory of being on his knees, eyes closed, waiting for the scythe’s blow, waiting for his big brother to wield its blade. Waiting to die. “Maybe not,” Sam matched Dean’s sombre tone, “but the things both of us are willing to do or kill…” Sam trailed off. _It scares me sometimes._

“Yeah.” Dean nodded and cleared his throat after a long pause, breaking the silence before it could turn oppressive. “You’re good, though, right?” He looked at Sam, worry flickering. “You need to stop off somewhere?”

Relieved, Sam allowed the subject switch, for once happy to play along. “A hospital?” He suggested, innocently.

“What?” Dean’s eyes widened as his voice roughened in concern. “Are you—?”

“Not for _me_ , jerk!” Sam threw his hands up and shook his head in disbelief.  

Dean rolled his eyes, quirking his lips. “I don’t need a hospital, Sam, but I’m startin’ to think we should go back to that roadhouse, get you another roll in the hay. Need to loosen you up a little—”

Sam groaned, pinkening despite himself at the memory of a few mornings ago. “Dean, dude…”

Dean flexed his palms on the steering wheel but didn’t push the joke, turning serious once more. “No hospital, Sam. I’m fine.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, debating whether he should insist. Dean was hardwired to minimise any and all wounds, but he wasn’t stupid. “Alright…,” he relented, “motel then. You need to rest up, we both do. I could use an actual bed.”

“No motel, Sam.”

Sam felt his hackles rise again, ready for battle. “Dean—”

“’M not leavin’ my girl unprotected, Sammy.” Dean stroked the Chevy’s dash soothingly. “Look at her.” His voice was a mix of pride and apology, a soft smile nudging at the corners of his mouth.

Sam smirked to himself. Why was he surprised? He’d seen Dean do the same for everyone else he cared about. “Alright…alright, but we find somewhere to pull up. And soon. You’ve already been in one crash today…”

“I didn’t have a choice, Sam!” Dean bit back in indignation, eyes flashing. “They already _had_ you and wanted to chow down on _me_.”

Sam instantly regretted the quip. Taken aback at the ferocity of his brother’s reaction, he chose his words with more care. He knew Dean wasn’t quite himself. “Look man, I wasn’t trying to start something, I just…”

“Nah, s’alright, forget it.” Dean’s anger ebbed as quickly as it had flowed, but his vague, lifeless tone had Sam worried.

They needed to find somewhere to pull over. Fast.

 

o0o0o

 

Alert for any imminent signs of danger, Sam noticed the instant his brother’s demeanour changed. “Dean, what is it? Are you alright?”

The elder Winchester sat rigid, holding his breath as he swerved the Impala without warning onto the gravel shoulder. Pebbles shot everywhere, bouncing off into the encroaching dusk and pinging against the Impala’s undercarriage as she screeched to a halt.

“Dean!” Sam yelled as his brother shoved the driver’s side door open and catapulted himself from his seat. Dean staggered several steps before he was retching, bent double and swaying dizzily.

Sam swore under his breath and scrabbled to get out the passenger side, heaving himself up and out, ignoring the way his body crackled with pain at the sudden movement and skidding on the gravel as he hurried around the front of the car to reach his brother.

“Hey!” Sam exhaled as he stumbled at his brother’s side. Dean had one hand clutched around his middle, groaning as his body convulsed. “Hey!” Sam called again, grabbing Dean’s shoulders as the older man’s legs buckled. “Dammit!” He muttered as he took the bulk of his brother’s weight, body aching as he guided him down onto his knees, wrinkling his nose as the acrid scent of vomit reached him. “It’s okay,” Sam murmured, keeping one palm flat at the base of his brother’s neck, the other bracing Dean’s chest as he leaned over and threw up once again.

“Ughh,” Dean moaned, miserable, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and resting on his haunches, allowing Sam to take the remainder of his weight. “This sucks.”

Sam patted his brother’s back in sympathy, troubled by the trembling he could feel beneath his palm. “Yeah, a double concussion will do that.” Despite his concern, he couldn’t help the amused snort that escaped when Dean tossed him the stink eye.

“You alright?” Sam asked after he was certain the worst was over.

The older man didn’t answer, instead straightening his back, tilting his head and hurking out a large wad of spit. It landed with a goopy splat next to Sam’s right foot.

“Dude!” Sam grimaced, wrinkling his nose and turning his face away as he caught Dean’s faint snigger. He hid his own smile, if Dean was well enough to act like a jerk, maybe it wasn’t so bad.

“Alright, let’s get you up.” Sam threaded his arms under Dean’s armpits and heaved, concern piquing again when his brother didn’t immediately work to take his own weight, didn’t even protest. Dean leaned against him for several seconds, letting Sam steady him for a moment before he took a few steps of his own volition, his movements awkward and groggy.

“C’mon,” Sam grunted as he braced his brother and steered him deliberately round to the passenger side. “You manage?” He asked, propping Dean against the car’s frame. Dean slid a few inches but seemed able to keep himself upright as Sam wrenched the door open.

Getting Dean folded into the passenger seat reminded Sam of the time he’d tried to stuff Jess’ cat into its carrier in preparation for a trip to the vet. He’d gotten several angry scratches and a lungful of fur for his trouble back then. This time he got a banged shin, a scraped wrist and an earful of his brother’s childish insults, but eventually he got Dean settled sideways, though the older man’s legs still spilled messily out onto the gravel.

Sam grabbed a bottle of water from the back and started to hand it to Dean before he paused, hesitating. He drew it back to twist the lid off before he allowed the older man to take it from him. Dean speared him with a withering look but accepted the opened bottle and took a deep swig, forcing Sam to hop backwards seconds later when he shot the mouthful back out again in a graceful arc.

The younger Winchester opened his mouth to chastise, but closed it again when Dean’s twinkling eyes met his. He shook his head instead. “You’re an idiot,” he grumbled fondly as Dean took another gulp, this time swallowing it down. “You okay?”

Dean snorted and took another mouthful, rolling it around before answering. “Awesome.”

“Great, we’re at one word answers now.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“Well, I guess that’s progress…” Sam crouched down in front of his brother, brows puckering as he noticed the greenish tinge to Dean’s complexion. “You gonna let me take a look now?”

“Sammy, I’m pretty sure the only danger to my health right now is you friggin’ mother-henning me to death.” Dean muttered.

“Funny, Dean.” Sam pinched his lips in disapproval. “That’s funny.” He still didn’t like his brother joking about death, didn’t think he ever would. He stood, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, eyes clouding as he pointed a finger. “I’m getting the kit out of the trunk. Stay put.”

“You’re not comin’ near me with that thing until I’ve had a chance to check _you_ over.” Dean called after him.

“Oh no, dude, you’re not getting out of this!” Sam retorted as he popped the trunk and began rummaging. “We both know who got the worse end of the deal, here. ‘Sides, you can hardly see straight and I don’t want you getting puke all over me.”

“I can see well enough to smack you upside the head!”

“Oh, I dunno about that, I don’t think you could reach that high!” Sam grinned when his brother responded with a growled epithet, knowing Dean couldn’t see him. The elder hunter’s bluster more than made up for his earlier emptiness, and Sam took refuge in the familiarity of their banter. He pulled the first aid kit out from under Dean’s duffel and checked it over: lower on supplies than he’d have liked, but enough to deal with the most immediate problems. Cas would take care of the rest.

Dean had started to list to one side by the time Sam returned, arms dropping down between his canted legs, head collapsed against the back of the passenger seat like a subsiding building. One eye was open at half-mast, the other scrunched tight. His tongue poked from between squidged lips.

He looked years younger, the deep lines and furrows etched out over a decade of pain and loss and struggle smoothed away, his sweat-soaked hair mussed like Sam had seen it a hundred times before after long childhood afternoons spent sparring to the beat of their father’s drill-sergeant drum. These days, Sam only saw it when Dean’s tank was empty, when his defences were down. And while that hadn’t happened so much in the last few years, it was happening more nowadays. Sam was thankful for that. Dean’s trust had been hard won back after all the times Sam had thrown it away.

Sam crouched in front of Dean again, a frown settling on his brow like an old friend. “Hey,” he gave the older man a short, sharp slap on the knee, noting the delayed flicker in Dean’s open eye. His brother’s earlier burst of energy appeared to be dwindling fast. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this, dude. You can sleep later.”

When Dean huffed out a befuddled “ _muuhhh_ ” Sam’s mouth tightened and he leaned forwards to pat his brother on the cheek. “If you don’t open your eyes right now, Dean, we’re going to the hospital. No arguments.”

Dean half-lifted a hand to swat at him, missing by about a mile, but he opened the other eye, glowering. Worried as he was, Sam couldn’t suppress a smirk, widening it further as his brother’s glare intensified.

“I know, I know,” Sam nodded in sympathy, “but you know the drill.” He grimaced, moving the penlight to his right hand and switching it on. He’d been on the receiving end of it often enough.

Dean jerked and groaned when the pinprick of light hit his eyes, but his pupils remained constant, one bigger than the other. “Dammit, Sam!” He hissed, moving a hand up to cover his eyes.

“Sorry,” Sam murmured, turning the light off and putting it back in the kit. “Looks like a concussion.”

“Ya think?” Dean snapped, his features folding in on themselves as he batted at Sam and missed again.

“ _Definitely_ a concussion,” the younger man amended, turning away from Dean to rifle through the contents of the kit. “You only ever get this grumpy when your eggs are smashed.”

“That’s cute, S’mmy,” came the grumbled response.

With unsettling ease, Sam coaxed his brother into downing a couple of Tylenol. He pulled out a pack of gauze pads and antiseptic. Placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder to keep his brother steady as he worked, he systematically worked his way down. Once the blood had been wiped away, the majority of the wounds didn’t appear to need much tending. He used butterfly bandages on one or two of the splits across Dean’s cheeks but otherwise left them alone after they’d been flushed clean.

The bite on his brother’s neck was of more concern and needed stitches. Dean objected to this as vociferously as he was able, arguing that there was no point in Sam wasting their already meagre supplies. The younger man disagreed, it was a long journey home and he didn’t feel like dealing with a feverish Dean for the remainder of their trip. He didn’t bother with his usual neatness. The wound wouldn’t scar, Cas would see to that. Dean endured it with his usual stoicism, his locked jaw and harsh breaths the only outward signs that he felt anything at all.

Lifting Dean’s shirt, Sam could see bruises splashed in Rorschach blots across the elder Winchester’s chest. He winced, knowing there wasn’t much he could do about that until he got them both back to the bunker. They were out of chemical ice packs and Sam wasn’t hopeful about coming across a pharmacy in the middle of nowhere.

“Saaammmmmyy…” Dean whined, pushing at his brother’s hands where they held on to the fabric of his shirt. “’F you’re not g’nna buy me d’nner first…least you c’n do is get me…drunk.”

Sam ignored him, Dean’s sarcastic protests were as much a part of the clean up as the cleaning itself. “Holy crap, Dean…what the hell’d they do to you?” He cursed under his breath. Aloud he said, “better check your ribs, man.” Slowly he ran his hands down Dean’s torso, pressing here and there, satisfied when nothing moved in a way it shouldn’t that his brother had somehow managed to avoid serious injury.

“’M I good s’new?” Both of Dean’s eyes were closed now, the slur to his voice growing heavier.

“You’ll do.” Sam huffed, pushing to his feet, wishing they didn’t still have an eighteen-hour drive ahead of them before he could get his brother properly fixed up. He brushed his hands against his jeans, inadvertently adding Dean’s blood to the stains from his own. He grimaced and then shrugged. After the day’s events they were destined for the trash anyway.

“Your turn.” Dean’s soft command made him pause.

“Later,” he picked up the kit and turned towards the trunk.

“Gimme the kit.” Dean stretched out an arm.

“You can’t even keep both eyes pointing in the same direction, dude. I’ll take care of it later.”

“Not later. _Now_.” One bleary eye had Sam pinned to the spot, and the younger man knew his brother would make life very difficult for him if he didn’t agree. And as tempted as he was to knock him out and stuff him in the back of the Impala, Dean had already suffered two concussions, Sam didn’t think it was wise to give him a third.

He picked up the first aid kit again and sighed. “Fine.”

 

o0o0o

Sam knew they’d have to stop again when patches of white began to ghost at the edges of his vision, fogging each blink. The air blowing past them through the car’s shattered windshield was sludgy with a thick heat as they skimmed the southern edge of Idaho, leaving both men clammy and listless. A vast, rapacious darkness seemed to swallow them whole, the Impala’s sole remaining headlight doing little to guide their path.

Sam glanced across at his brother, who had melted into the passenger seat and was still fast asleep. Dean had been out since Sam had last nudged him awake almost an hour ago for the dreaded neuro check. The older man had cursed and grumbled and bitched for a full five minutes after being forced to open his eyes, but with enough coherence that Sam hadn’t been too concerned of any lasting ill effects.

Spotting an old, dusty trail road at the last moment in the Chevy’s feeble headlight, Sam didn’t have time to slow down. He wrenched at the steering wheel, screeching into the turn and bouncing Dean from slumber with a jolt.

“Th’ _hell_ , Sam?” Dean slurred with a growl, throwing a hand out to brace himself.

“Sorry,” Sam muttered on autopilot, rolling the car to a gentler halt. He put a hand to his head and groaned, feeling as if the world was still moving around them. His own aches and pains sprung into life once more, as if they’d been lying in wait for the moment he dropped his guard.

“You alright?” Even dazed and cross-eyed, Dean managed to sound authoritatively concerned. Sam always his number one priority.

Sam collected himself, waiting for his body to acclimatise. “Yeah, I’m fine, Dean.” He needed to be the one to keep it together for his brother this time. “Just figured it was time to stop for a while…is all,” he finished lamely, forcing a smile.

Dean shot him a shrewd side-eye but didn’t argue. “Alright,” he nodded, a slight tightening around his eyes telling Sam that even that minor movement had pained him. “I can take over first light.”

_Yeah, right_. Sam snorted, cocking his head at his brother. “Maybe when you can stay awake for longer than a few minutes.” He reached into the back seat where he had left his duffel earlier and pulled it over into the front seat, hiding a wince as the movement tugged at his bruises. Grabbing a fresh bottle of water, he fished out the Tylenol and palmed two tablets, holding them out towards his brother.

“C’mon Sam–” Dean grumbled, as usual.

“Dude, don’t be an idiot, I can tell you still have a headache,” Sam countered in disapproval. Standard.

“Fine,” Dean acquiesced with bad grace, scowling as Sam tipped the pills into his outstretched hand. Typical.

It was a familiar dance, but the fact they were having it at all meant that Dean had improved even since a few hours ago. Buoyed, Sam shot his brother a smug smirk, receiving Dean’s patented death-glare in response.

Sam tapped out a couple more tablets for himself and downed them with the rest of the water when Dean handed back the bottle. Seeing his brother’s eyelids start to droop once more, Sam reached into his duffel again and pulled out an old, well-worn hoodie. Wadding it up, he mimed putting it behind his head and tossed it at Dean. Even half closed, Dean’s eyes still rolled skywards, but his brother accepted it without complaint. Sam took it as the silent thanks it was and ducked his head to hide his smile.

“Okay, you stay there, I’m gonna get in the back,” he said, pushing the driver’s side door open. Glancing behind him at his brother, he saw that Dean had dropped his head back against his makeshift pillow but otherwise hadn’t moved. Sighing at the older man’s usual stubbornness, he leaned back in towards his brother, reaching down to heft up one deadweight leg and then the other so that Dean was lying across the front seat.

Eyes fully closed, Dean arched a brow.

“Shut up!” Sam cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Go to sleep…jerk”

He caught the muttered “bitch” as he pushed himself out of the car and opened the rear door. He felt a comforting warmth spread from top to toe. Of all the motels they’d ever slept in, the Winchester Motel might not be the most comfortable, but it was theirs.

Sam clambered in and settled himself along the back seat, knees bent in the confined space, positioned so that he was facing Dean. His brother looked peaceful, but Sam could tell Dean wasn’t asleep yet. The younger Winchester pulled off his flannel button-down shirt, scrunching it up and putting it beneath his neck as he tried to get comfortable, avoiding the shards of glass that still clung to the broken window behind him. He closed his eyes, listening to the growing sound of the cicadas outside over the top of his brother’s slow breathing.

He willed his mind to empty so that he could drift off to sleep – he was so _tired_ – but thoughts circled him like predators, waiting to pounce, leaving him tense. He thought about the day’s events, all that had happened, all that had almost happened. What the Nachzehrer had said. Their words rolled across his mind with thunderous echoes. He thought again about what he and Dean had released into the world.

Seconds oozed past in the heat of the night, Sam dropping into a doze that seemed to stop and start like a stuttering engine. He’d been dreaming of his mother again at some point, he realised, the feeling of comfort and shelter lingering as he opened his eyes in the darkness. They always seemed to come to him more frequently, the dreams, when he was most in need of them. And despite how Dean’s reassuring determination had bolstered him earlier, he knew he _was_ in need. But he’d thought he was the only one who’d taken solace that way. It had surprised him when Dean had admitted to having dreams about their father.

He glanced at Dean, seeing the taut signs of alertness in the way his big brother’s chest rose and fell. He wondered how long his brother had been awake. Sam should have roused him by now anyway, it had been longer than an hour since his last check.

“Why don’t you take a picture, Sam…?” Dean muttered without opening his eyes. Sometimes Sam was convinced he hadn’t been the only Winchester to have ESP.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Sam ignored the jibe.

“Your powers of observation are extraordinary, Sam.”

“Shut up.” Dean sounded better, but Sam wanted to make sure. “You okay? You want some more pain meds?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just…thinkin’”

“About?”

“You really wanna know?” Dean opened his eyes, his voice was grave.

Sam’s pulse quickened. “What is it?”

“Okay, if you really, _really_ wanna know…” His top lip quirked and he leered over the top of the seat. “I was thinkin’ ‘bout that night me n’ Heather—”

“Dude!” Sam threw up his hands, annoyed that he’d walked right into his brother’s trap.

“What? I was gonna say ganked a vamp nest in Omaha. Pretty sure it was when you were sick. I can’t help it if you got a dirty mind, Sammy!”

Sam pierced him with a glare of stern disapproval. “Would you just…be _serious_ for a second, Dean.”

The elder hunter raised his eyebrows and puffed up his cheeks but he sat back again with a shrug. “Alright, you wanna do your checks, do your checks.”

Not that Sam was at all sure he really needed to. Dean seemed more and more like his usual self as time went on. Nevertheless, he went through the standard list of questions, Dean receiving each question with a resigned sigh, but answering it all the same. The younger Winchester settled back again, reassured that his brother was recovering well. He watched him for a moment, under his eyelashes so that Dean wouldn’t notice.

“Hey, Dean…?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t know you dreamt about…about Dad. About having a normal life. I mean… _this_ life? You’ve always been so – I dunno – sure, I guess.”

“Uhh,” Dean scratched at the back his neck, staring ahead. “I don’t remember much about life…before. I mean, hell, I was only four years old. But I remember _Mom_. I remember feeling…safe. Not a care in the world.” Dean’s eyes brightened briefly at the memory before dimming. “Later, when you were _Downstairs_ …” He stalled, a darkness flitting across his features. “And I took a year out.” He raised a hand and made a revolving gesture. “It was like goin’ through the motions.” His hand paused in mid-air and he shrugged. “Wasn’t _me_. Still laid the salt lines every night.”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, eyes turning inward as he pondered his brother’s words. Sam had wanted that safe, uneventful, pedestrian life for so long. Like it was the Holy Grail he’d always search for but would never find. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with that, with who he was. That he and Dean, they were part of the guard protecting that Grail. Sam had never stopped _laying the salt lines_ either, not at Stanford with Jess, not with Amelia. The only place he’d ever felt at home – safe – was in the Impala. With Dean.

“What about you?” Dean cleared his throat, glancing at Sam and then away again, as if looking too long would burn him. “You still want that apple pie, white-picket fence, nine to five…?”

Sam waited in silence until his brother’s eyes grudgingly met his again. “Nah…”

“Nah?” It still pained him to hear the doubt in Dean’s response, even when it was buried in nonchalance and topped off with hope.

Sam lifted a shoulder. “I mean, sure, I still dream about it. And, would I want it someday? Of course.” He paused, swallowing. He wasn’t sure he’d ever have it, if either of them would. But he’d work damn hard to make it happen. For both of them. “But right now…right now, we got work to do.” _We have to clean up our mess_. “And I don’t want to stop until it’s done.”

Dean studied him in silence, appraising his words. He nodded, his mouth lifting at one corner. “Alright then.”

Sam nodded too.

“We will finish this, Sam.” Dean reaffirmed. It was a promise, an oath.

“Yeah, I know.” And Sam knew that they would, whatever it took. Together.

 


End file.
